For new and longtime voters, the stakes felt enormous in this midterm election.

I did an informal survey among my group of hardcore voters to ask about the No. 1 issue on their minds when they cast their midterm ballot. The most popular response had to do with saving democracy, protecting election integrity and combating domestic extremism.

Given that voting is the primary way we govern ourselves and make our voices heard, it’s understandable that protecting that system is foundational to preserving our American way of life.

The second most common response fell along gender lines. Half of the women I asked cited abortion rights, reproductive freedom and the post-Roe reality as their main issues. My sample tilts more left-of-center than the general population in my red state of Missouri. But other frequent responses may be top concerns among those right-of-center as well -- inflation, the economy and crime.

Both of the top answers I heard run counter to the truism that people vote with their pocketbooks. Max Gulker, writing for the libertarian think tank American Institute for Economic Research, describes how this cliche about voter behavior falls apart: White, working-class voters largely go against their economic interest by voting for politicians who support policies that favor the rich, while upper-middle-class progressives vote against lower tax rates, which are in their own economic interests. He argues that a better approximation for modern voter behavior is, “People vote for the candidate or party that provides a better story about themselves.”

I would argue that even this more nuanced analysis falls short in explaining this past election. Across parties, but among women in particular, there was an urgent sense that this election was about survival. With the Supreme Court’s recent decision that ended the protection offered by Roe v. Wade, women have experienced a dramatic loss of our rights. It’s hard to describe to a man what it feels like to wake up one day with less freedom and legal control over your own body. Suffice it to say it feels dangerously threatening.

This feeling is amplified for those of us who have experienced a heartbreaking or terrifying pregnancy outcome. As soon as the conservative justices on the Supreme Court released the Dobbs decision overturning Roe, I immediately thought about one of my most painful and personal losses that happened more than 20 years ago. My husband and I were ecstatic to learn I was pregnant after deciding we wanted to start a family. I remember feeling euphoric hearing the sounds of fetal cardiac activity at our first doctor’s appointment. However, our doctor expressed some concern that the heartbeat was slower than it should be and scheduled a follow-up two weeks later.

We prayed intensely during those two weeks that everything would be normal when we returned.

It was not.

The doctor could not detect any cardiac activity when I returned. Anywhere from 10% to 20% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage. I never expected to be part of that statistic, but here we were.

It was devastating.

Our doctor recommended a procedure known as a dilation and curettage (D&C) to remove tissue from inside the uterus lining. I was in my 20s, anxious and bereft. I trusted whatever she told me. This is the same type of procedure that can be used to provide an early abortion.

The loss of a much-desired pregnancy feels like the loss of a dream. It hurts in emotional and physical ways. It’s hard to fathom that such a difficult experience is now that much scarier and harder to endure.

When Roe fell, I wondered what would have happened if I had lost that pregnancy today, especially if it had been a few weeks later or if the fetus had been nonviable, but cardiac activity was still detectable. Would I have been sent home to wait it out and risk sepsis, a life-threatening infection? Would my ability to have children been compromised by a delay in medical care? Would I have had to navigate a logistical nightmare while lost in my own grief?

All these questions come flooding back when I read stories like that of Mylissa Farmer, a Missouri woman who was described being denied a lifesaving abortion procedure at a Joplin hospital in August after her water broke early and her life was at risk. Farmer never anticipated her desired pregnancy could have become an issue in a Senate campaign.

We can’t anticipate or control how our bodies respond to a pregnancy. We can’t control whether a fetus survives or for how long. But Republican politicians can control what happens to us during and after -- even if it means losing our lives for a political agenda.

Knowing this, especially for those of us who have lived through our own reproductive struggles, this election felt intensely personal.

It felt like fighting for survival.

I want to believe that even Kanye West's most ardent fans loathe his racist, antisemitic rants.

I even would like to believe this about his newish Republican fanbase, which includes my very own attorney general, Missouri's Eric Schmitt. Schmitt tweeted, then deleted, his praise for West after the musician's unhinged interview with Tucker Carlson, which was laced with antisemitism.

West, who changed his name to Ye last year, publicly supports former President Donald Trump, endearing him to some who may not have had as much love for him before his hard-right turn.

West's actions and statements place him at the intersection of celebrity, mental health, politics and race at a deeply polarized moment in our country. Normally, I couldn't care less about celebrity provocations. But when someone with that much cultural influence starts spewing vitriol, it needs to be called out.

As Carly Pildis, director of community engagement for the Anti-Defamation League, pointed out: "Kanye West has more Twitter followers than there (are) Jews in the world. There are an estimated 14.8 million Jews, and he has over 30 million followers."

There's been a deafening silence from the GOP regarding West's virulent remarks about Jewish people -- none of which I care to repeat. Imagine the reaction if the exact same words were uttered by a Democrat: It would lead to nothing less than apocalyptic coverage on Fox News. But in this case, Fox News is providing the platform. To air this man's hateful words when American Jews are already experiencing a rise in hate crimes is a sick kind of political opportunism.

Unfortunately, I think many of us have gotten numb to these political stunts and blatant hypocrisy. But there is one demographic whose thoughts on West's meltdowns still matter to me.

A new survey of 14,500 American teens by the investment bank Piper Sandler found that the rapper ranked third on this year's list of teens' favorite social media personalities. Given that West is now acquiring Parler, a social media platform favored by the alt-right and rife with antisemitism, I wonder how many young followers will be lured into that same sewer. What is the long-term impact of being exposed to toxic racism online? Does seeing the same destructive and dehumanizing tropes over and over normalize them?

Over the years, I've had several conversations about West with my son. He's been a fan of the rapper's music since he was a young teen, and has tried on several occasions to get me to appreciate his musical genius. Years ago, he attempted to explain it to me in Gen X terms: Kanye is to my generation what Prince was to yours, he said.

Prince was undeniably a musical genius. But as teenage fans, my friends and I weren't privy to his every fleeting thought or personal crisis because social media, thankfully, did not exist.

I asked my son if he had seen West's latest social media stupidity. Like most teens, he had.

"I still love his music, but it's really upsetting to see him spew all this nonsense," he said.

Trying to separate great art from a morally compromised artist is a perennial issue across genres and political lines. Our children are confronting this sooner than we did, given their upbringing in a very online culture. For them, these debates unfold in the comments of Instagram posts and in TikTok videos. Anyone who has spent a minute online knows these are not spaces for nuanced conversation. Mob mentality can quickly turn any controversy into a racist, misogynistic cesspool.

This is exacerbated by the zealous fans who derive a sense of identity and belonging from being part of a fanbase. These are a celebrity's staunchest defenders and apologists. Celebrities cultivate this loyalty to sell more music, tickets, cosmetics, clothes or whatever else they might be hawking.

For the sake of my kids, I don't want to cede the discourse around Kanye to trolls, stans and political opportunists. I've discovered that the best way for me to approach current events with them is to ask what they think -- and then genuinely listen.

The responses are often reassuring.

I had the strangest premonition last weekend.

We were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the high school bleachers in Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, watching hundreds of band students perform on the field. About 30 school bands from around the region had gathered for a competition.

Maybe it was because the entire area was so tightly packed with students, teachers and parents. I glanced at the crowd around me. The thought hit me suddenly.

"What if a gunman starts firing?"

Maybe it's because of that story of the mom who ran past armed police to get to her children inside Uvalde Elementary School, where 19 children and two teachers were shot to death.

"How could I even protect my kid here?"

Just a couple of days later, one of my closest friends sent a frantic text: There was an active shooter at her child's school. Her daughter was safe. Then came a text from another friend, who wrote to say her child had stayed home that day. Also safe.

But a student and a health teacher were killed at Central Visual and Performing Arts High School in south St. Louis on Oct. 24. Seven more were injured. This happened in a school that has metal detectors, locked doors and security officers.

Parents send their children to school dreading this kind of nightmare.

Maybe my anxiety was already heightened because Texas lawmakers recently decided to send DNA collection kits to parents. You know, in case their babies' bodies are too mangled by a shooter firing an AR-15 in a classroom to be identified. Gov. Greg Abbott thinks this is a better idea than making guns harder to obtain for the potentially violent and homicidal.

My colleagues at the paper rushed to CVPA and reported harrowing details, like the account from Dakota Willard, 14, who attends Collegiate School of Medicine and Bioscience -- also housed in the CVPA building. Willard said he saw what looked like one person, a girl, down at the end of the hallway that joins the two schools.

He said it looked like she was trying to run away by the way she was lying on the floor.

"What I saw was traumatizing," Willard said, but added, "I'm OK. I don't need any special help."

You do need special help, Dakota. We all do. We are all traumatized. Those of us who have felt panic receiving a lockdown message from our kids' schools. Those of us who have grieved a loved one lost to gun violence. Those of us who have lived through an active shooting at a mall, at work, at a concert, at the movies, at school. Those of us who have said over and over again that we don't have to live this way. That mass shootings happen this frequently only in America.

Because of our gun laws. Because of the gun lobby. Because of craven politicians. Because of worthless thoughts and prayers.

Missouri has some of the worst gun laws in the country. There's no law requiring background checks on unlicensed gun sales. People can carry hidden, loaded handguns in public without a permit or safety training. There are no laws prohibiting domestic abusers from possessing guns. Republican lawmakers even passed a law that prohibits local police and highway patrols from enforcing several federal gun laws.

I thought about that when I read the words from Tonya Neal, a parent whose daughter attends CVPA: At 9:19 a.m., she received a text from her daughter that read, "Mom, I love you."

Neal didn't realize until later that there was an active shooter at the school. Her daughter is safe.

Her baby might have wanted to tell her mom she loved her one last time.

This is what we've trained our children to do.

Because our lawmakers have failed to protect them.